


go back to sleep

by nightmaresinwintah



Category: Marvel
Genre: ??????????, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dissociation, Hospitals, M/M, Mentions of Death, Prisoner of War, Recovery, Stucky - Freeform, amputation (sort of?), and gets rescued don't worry, and of course they end up more that friends, and steve comes along like yo, basically bucky gets captured over in the desert, descriptions of torture, service dog, steve rogers also needs a hug, that's it that's the tags, uhhhhhh okay so, ur pretty cute lets be friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:26:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresinwintah/pseuds/nightmaresinwintah
Summary: Bucky wasn’t prepared. It was just a simply accompaniment of supplies to base camp, and he hadn’t expected anything like this. It happened anyway, because out here, nothing played by the rules. One moment he’s checking the rounds on his handgun and thinking about the promise of food back at base and then he’s lying in a heap of burning rubble and everyone’s screaming. Later, he’ll figure out that it was a IED that took his team and his arm. Later, he’ll have time to mourn and scream and cry. 
  Or, Bucky wakes up to various, more than unfortunate events over and over again, until he wakes up and everything's okay.





	go back to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> yo so I wrote this over the course of three hours and it's unedited and unread by me soooooo enjoy!!!!!

With things the way they had been lately, Bucky should have expected for everything to go tits-up. Mortia had  _ warned  _ him that nothing stays good out here for long. Here being the never ending grit and sand in places he didn’t even know you could get grit and sand, and the constant thrumming in his blood that kept him alert. Kept him alive. Here was seeing the dunes and his men through his scope and hoping the people he saw dying left and right weren’t his. 

And lately, they hadn’t been. Bucky’s blood, which was usually running flame-hot, had cooled to normal body temperature. And that was was  _ dangerous,  _ because it meant his skin wasn’t itching and he wasn’t aware of every single spec out of place. Out here, that meant death. Monty had been driving, cigarette hanging off his lips, cackling about something with Dernier when it happened. 

Bucky wasn’t prepared. It was just a simply accompaniment of supplies to base camp, and he hadn’t expected  _ anything  _ like this. It happened anyway, because out here, nothing played by the rules. 

One moment he’s checking the rounds on his handgun and thinking about the promise of food back at base and then he’s lying in a heap of burning rubble and everyone’s screaming. Later, he’ll figure out that it was a IED that took his team and his arm. Later, he’ll have time to mourn and scream and cry. 

Now though, he just twists his head and the  _ pain  _ rushes through him, poker-hot. He screams, the sound ripping itself right out of his gut. He grits his teeth, chokes it back, and tries to look around again. His vision blacks out for a moment, but he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through it. When he opens them again, he wishes he hadn’t, because he can see pieces of - of -  _ fuck.  _

Later, he’ll wonder if it was his arm lying a meter away or someone else's. Now, he just screams again and succumbs to the darkness lurking at the edge of his senses. 

*

When he wakes up he knows immediately that everything is wrong. He isn’t drowning in blood and smoke and fire and he isn’t in the desert. No, he’s cold and the ground beneath him is hard and unforgiving and everything is  _ dark.  _ It takes him a moment to figure out what this means. 

When he does, he bites back the scream of terror, and instead goes about taking in his surroundings. There’s a body in the room with him, and as he looks closer, he can see the rise and fall of their side. He makes to stand up, but gut-wrenching pain shoots through his left side like lightning. He remembers the bomb, now. 

He doesn’t want to look, but he does. He screams.

*

The next time he wakes up, Dum Dum is hunched over against the wall, shoulders shaking. Bucky would be relieved to see him if it weren’t for the situation they were in. Dum Dum looks up as Bucky’s breathing quickens, and Bucky swallows back bile. He can’t afford to lose what he’s got in his stomach. He’s shaking, he realises, and doesn’t bother to try get up. 

“We’re in deep shit this time, Barnes,” Dum Dum croaks, and Bucky closes his eyes again. 

He doesn’t bother replying. He wonders how long he’s going to last. The one arm thing is already doing his head in. He breathes in and out, nice and slow, and focuses on not passing out again. The room they’re in is damp which won’t be doing anything good for their lungs, and Bucky feels like he’s coughed up gravel his throat is so sore. Dum Dum continues to watch him, eyes hard. 

“Any idea who they are?” Bucky asks, tilting his neck and wincing at the pull of wounds there. He looks at the door, frustrated that it’s simple metal, leaving nothing to see. 

Dum Dum’s looking down at one of his hands, probably picking at some scabs there. “No. Haven’t seen nuthin. No one’s been by,” he grunts. 

Bucky rolls carefully, moving onto his back, wincing at the pain that courses through him. His shoulder’s bandaged but bloodstained and he’s lying in a puddle of his own blood. “Well ain’t that just great,” he rasps. 

“I’d take a look at your arm, but my leg’s busted and I don’t wanna move too much.”

Bucky huffs out an affirmative sound. “How’s it lookin’?” he dares to ask.

“Like a fuckin’ bloody stump, Barnes,” Dum Dum deadpans. 

Bucky has the energy to snort, before he closes his eyes and tries not to cry. Things fall silent after that, and Bucky resolves to get some more shut-eye. 

*

The next moment of consciousness is brought about by a loud clanking sound. Bucky scrambles awake, hauling himself into a half-arsed sitting position. Pain tears through him, but he bites back the groan. The door slides open and lights pours into the room. He and Dum Dum get a first look at their captors. There’s nothing distinctive about them, nothing to show who they are or who they’re with. 

One of them is pointing at Bucky. “That one. He’s not going to last long, and I want to have a go at him,” is said, words dripping with a fake accent. 

Bucky doesn’t have time to panic before he’s being hauled up and dragged down a hallway. He’s thrown onto a cold metal table and strapped down, overhead lights shining in his eyes. His head is strapped too, despite his attempts to fight. His brain is swimming and his vision is blurred over, but he tries to focus on what is happening around him. 

Someone sits down to his left, and he has to fight down the instinct to cringe away. There’s muttering in a different language, and then the bandages are being taken from his shoulder. This time he does flinch, and the person freezes. 

“That’s no good. You’re new, yes? Don’t know the rules yet, hm?”

Bucky stares right ahead of him, into the lights, because he can’t move his head. Fear is racing through him, making him sick to his stomach. He’d thought the questions were rhetorical - they weren’t. Something cracks across his face, and he barely holds back the cry of surprise and pain. Blood wells in his mouth from where he’s bit open his cheek.

This is when it really hits him.

He’s now a prisoner of war, and these people are going to do whatever they want to him. Dum Dum is alive but injured, and the rest of his men are most likely dead. Bucky himself is missing a  _ goddamn arm.  _ Unless he dies, he’s in this for the long haul. 

The person - man - to his left leers over him. He’s wearing a surgical mask and his eyes resemble steel. “Now, I’m going to tell you the rule, because none of this is fair if you don’t know how to play by them, hm?”

This time Bucky fumbles to answer, trying to delay any more pain. “Yes,” he rasps. 

“Good. Number one - no noise, unless you’re replying to a question. Two - do exactly as we say. Three - no questions.”

Bucky tongues at the hole in his cheek, deliberating. He doesn’t say anything. The man settles back down, and disappears from Bucky’s line of sight. Desperation spikes through him, but he stays silent and waits. Something jabs at his mess of a shoulder, and he bites down on his tongue, eyes bulging with the effort to keep silent. Tears trickle down his temples, and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

The man chuckles. “Infection is setting in, soldier. They told me you didn’t have long. This is true.” A pause. “What’s your name?”

“Go to hell,” Bucky spits, hoping some of the bloody saliva hits him. If he’s not got long, he’s not going down without making some kind of fuss. The man is silent. Still. It scares Bucky more than he would admit.  

“You’re going to learn quick, scum,” is hissed, and then Bucky enters a haze of pain he’s going to become very familiar with. 

He wonders if Dum Dum can hear him scream. 

*

There’s a steady dripping somewhere above him, rousing him from the blessing that is unconsciousness. He finds himself mumbling “Sergeant Barnes, 32557038 -” before a mouthguard is being shoved in his mouth. 

This is new. He’s got - they’ve done - he’s in bad shape, he knows. His head lolls to the side, free from the strap. He stares around the room blearily, unsure how long he’s been here. Has he even been taken off of the table? He doesn’t remember. Everything swirls around him, making him dizzier. 

Then the electricity comes. 

*

One time, he wakes to skin being peeled back from his left side, which is already riddled with wounds. He worries when he doesn’t have enough energy to scream his pain. 

Another time, they’re heating up metal spikes before pressing them to the same side. He manages to scream for them this time. 

He doesn’t think he ever gives any information away. He doesn’t think they ever even ask, apart from his name and serial number. He’s pretty sure they’re just seeing how long he’ll last. 

The worst time he wakes is when they were stabbing him with needles and pushing unknown liquid into his veins. His skin burns for days and days afterwards. 

*

One day he wakes up and it’s not to pain. It’s quiet, apart from the drip-drip-drip that he’s figured must be coming from a leaky tap or pipe. He knows they have running water in here, because it can’t have been all that long ago that they held him under - 

He breaks off the thought as footsteps sound from the hallway. He closes his eyes and shallows out his breathing, feigning unconsciousness. No one comes in, but the familiar sound of bullets start echoing, and then everyone is yelling. He cringes back and opens his eyes, straining to get a look at the door. 

He can’t see  _ anything  _ but the flashing of gunfire and shadows dancing on the walls. He tugs at his restraints, but as usual, nothing happens. He resolves to stare at the lights above him and listen. The gunfire goes on for a while, each sound sending a flicker of panic through his chest. 

Someone comes into the room eventually, shouting at something. Bucky forces his eyes open, tries to focus, but his brain isn’t cooperating. He opens his mouth, but remembers he’s still got the mouthguard in from the last electrocution. Hands are all over him, suddenly, tugging at straps and then he’s free. 

“C’mon, soldier, we’ve got to go,” is being said into his ear and then he’s being tugged up.

He goes straight down, collapsing on the floor with a groan of pain. Then he’s being hauled back up and he spits the mouthguard out, simultaneously trying to get his legs to work. He somehow manages to keep up, stumbling along beside the guy and heading towards - is that sun? 

He wonders if Dum Dum’s still alive. 

He gets shoved into a vehicle and everything just sort of flickers away and he goes back under. 

*

When he wakes this time, there is no pain. There’s flickering lights overhead, and he swallows past a dry throat. He tilts his head to the left to see the walls rushing past. He’s aware he’s moving like - like he’s on a hospital bed. He looks around more, and the end of the bed he’s on crashes through some doors. He can’t help but flinch back. 

“Holy - is he awake?” comes from his left. 

He cringes back and looks towards the sound - a man in a surgical mask. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows he’s safe. In the forefront, that doesn’t make sense. So, he takes advantage of the bed slowing down and the lack of straps, and hauls ass. 

He’s off the bed in a second, eyes taking in every detail of the room. He makes for a weapon, grabbing a heavy surgical instrument, and races back out the doors he just came through. He’s running on adrenaline but he’s severely off balance, what with the lack of an arm and however long he was laying on that damn table. 

There’s shouting behind him, all around him, and he doesn’t think. He runs. His feet carry him down the halls as he tries to make sense of what’s happening, and he bypasses the security coming after him. All he sees is the way they carry themselves and thinks of the promised pain. One of the security guards are catching up, so he turns a corner in a hurry and ducks into the nearest door. 

He shuts it, pressing his back against a wall and trying to get his breathing under control. The security go straight past the room. 

Bucky sinks to the floor, head hanging and his makeshift weapon dropping from his hand. His shoulders are shaking and he can’t - he can’t understand this. Where is he? What happened? He tries to remember but - there’s nothing. He’s lost. Why wasn’t he strapped down? Why does - he’s  _ clean.  _ He can’t smell the blood, piss and sweat smell that had become usual for him. His vision is swimming, which indicates drugs, which lets him know  _ why  _ he’s not in pain. 

In the middle of his crisis, he realises that there’s someone in the room with him. He looks up, still breathing hard, to see a guy with bandages over his ears staring at him with a crease in between his eyebrows. 

Bucky picks up his weapon again. 

The guy has a pen and pad in his hands, and he shows the pad to Bucky. ‘ _ Wtf?’  _ is all it says. Bucky’s shoulders slump, and he stares around the hospital room with wide eyes. His brain is slowing down now, and everything rushes back with embarrassing clarity. He was rescued. He was probably being wheeled in for surgery or some shit. He ignores the fact that he hadn’t been sedated. Or had he?

Bucky shrugs. The guy’s eyes linger on the tremors still rocking through him, and then glances down to write something on his pad. ‘ _ u ok?’  _ he shows Bucky. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and shudders. When he opens them again, the guy is writing. Bucky waits patiently, listening to every sound outside the room. ‘ _ I’m Steve.’  _ says the pad. 

Bucky just stares at him. The door opens, then, and a nurse comes bustling in with a tray. Bucky cringes back at the noise - the quiet had been  _ nice -  _ and curls in on himself, stump facing the wall. He grips his weapon so hard he’s pretty sure his knuckles are going to pop out of his skin. His eyes are wide open so he sees the look of shock on the nurse's face when she spots him. 

To her credit, she stays calm and simply leaves the room, presumably to get security. Bucky wonders what the punishment will be this time - except, if he’s back with his own people, will he actually get punished? Movement from the guy’s bed makes him refocus. Steve is just pointing at the ‘ _ wtf? _ ’ again. Bucky just shudders. 

He hauls himself to his feet, swaying a little, and prepares himself for a fight. (In the back of his mind, he knows he doesn’t have to. He does anyway.) Steve is just watching him with concern bleeding all over his face, but Bucky can’t focus. The room is starting to slide sideways as the situation catches up to him. He wonders about the extent of what they did to him, in that goddamn room. 

Someone knocks on the door. Maybe they say something, maybe they just come on in but either way Bucky’s on his feet and wielding the weapon. There are two security guards, both with their hands up. Bucky must look like a  _ mess  _ in his hospital gown and the fact that he’s missing a fucking arm. He bares his teeth, and one of the security guard’s lips are moving, but Bucky can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears. 

He takes a step back as they begin to advance, panic rushing through his veins. Their eyes flicker to the side, and Bucky follows their attention to see Steve getting out of bed. Bucky freezes, confused, until Steve comes to stand (if a bit wobbly) in front of Bucky. He shows him the writing paper, and Bucky forces his brain to calm down enough to read. ‘ _ They’re not gonna hurt u.’  _ it says. 

Bucky blinks, reading the sentence a few more time. He glares at the security guards and then at Steve, who writes something else.  _ ‘Ur hurt just let them take care of u.’  _ Bucky reads it twice before looking at his empty hospital sleeve. The room tilts sideways and he sinks back down to the floor, dropping the weapon on the way. Steve sits down in front of him, palms upturned. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut to block it all out. 

He doesn’t see the security guards moving, what with all the black spots. There’s a small prick at his arm, and he panics for a moment before he’s going back under. 

*

He wakes up in the surgery, because of course he does. It’s only for a moment, but there are tools in his shoulder; cutting, tearing, stitching. He’s only disoriented for a moment before he’s back on that table, screaming his throat raw. Everyone around him is yelling; confusion, fear, panic. He grits his teeth to shut up because  _ you scream we go for another hour, soldier.  _ He sinks back under as more drugs swirl around his head. 

*

For the first time in a long time, he wakes up to silence. 

He takes a moment to open his eyes and look around the room he’s in; he’s alone, and it’s a standard american hospital room by the looks of it. He’s back on home ground. He swallows dryly and goes to take the oxygen mask off - only that hand doesn’t move. He closes his eyes again and holds back the wave of grief. As the agony of overwhelming devastation passes, he raises his intact hand - shaking - and removes the oxygen mask. 

There’s an I.V in his hand, connected to a bag of liquid. He’s careful of it as he sits up, wincing. He pulls back the sheet covering him in order to take stock of his wounds and what’s been done to him. 

He sits there for a while. 

A nurse comes in while he’s running his fingertips over the rough skin on his temples where he’d been electrocuted time and time again. She startles, like he wasn’t supposed to be awake and goes to leave the room, her face a little pale. It makes sense that she’d be wary of him, what with the stunt he pulled, but it still hurts his chest. 

She manages to look apologetic as she backs out of the room. A doctor and two security guards come in not long after. Bucky’s just sitting on his bed fiddling with the clear tape holding the I.V in his hand steady. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” 

He looks up, heart thudding in his chest. The doctor is watching him with something akin to  _ pity  _ in her eyes, and bitterness wells up in the back of Bucky’s throat. He nods. The doctor begins going off on a spiel about the injuries he had sustained, and how long he’d been a P.O.W -  _ five months what the fuck -  _ and where he was. The doctor starts asking questions, then, but Bucky just shuts it out. He only has one thing on his mind. 

“Who was the group that came to get me?” he asks, voice scratchy with disuse. 

The doctor pauses in whatever she had been saying and fish-mouths for a moment. “I don’t know, Sergeant, but I’m sure we can find that out for you,” she says. 

Bucky nods. It must be clear in his body language that he’s done talking, because there are no more questions. The doctor comes over to check his bandages and his I.V and vitals before drifting out of the room, taking the security with her. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to relax. He’s safe. He’s home. The doctor had definitely been American. 

He breathes through the tremors and is somewhat composed when the next person comes in. He’s flanked by security as well, but a lot more relaxed. 

The guy talks and talks and talks about what’s happened to Bucky and where he can go from here. Prosthetic, the VA, state housing, medical insurance. It goes on and on and Bucky just wants him to shut up, no matter how much he’s trying to help. Bucky’s  _ exhausted  _ and he just wants to return to the safety of unconsciousness. 

He remembers to ask, though - something that’s been tugging at the edges of his mind ever since he got back. “My team,” he croaks. The guy had been in the middle of a topic, and he snaps his mouth shut, frowning. Bucky continues. “There was - a guy. In the cell with me. Dum Dum - Timothy Dugan. Was he…” he trails off, biting his bottom lip.

“We can look into it for you,” the guy promises, but there’s an edge to his voice that tells Bucky the answer will be nothing good. 

“There was no one else?” Bucky guesses.

The silence is answer enough. 

*

Bucky gets stronger, feeling less like he’s gonna pass out every time he stands up. Eventually he’s convincing the nurses to let him walk around the halls. A security guard has to go with him because no one knows how he’s going to react to things most of the time. A nurse had dropped a metal tray the other day and Bucky had found himself screaming about taking cover. So yeah, unpredictable. 

Today, Bucky finds himself at the end of a hall, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s nothing but a carpark and some trees to look at, but it’s  _ normal.  _ The view makes him breathe easier, somehow. A therapist has started to come and see him and try get him to talk. A lot of people have been coming to see him. They all have questions. Bucky hates it, but he answers each question as best he can - even the ones about his time as a P.O.W. 

If he has information on those bastards, then he’ll damn well give it to someone who can do something about it. Doesn’t mean it ain’t hard, though.

Something - someone? - moves too fast, too sudden behind him and he doesn’t think before he’s spinning around and reaching for a gun that isn’t there. He finds himself staring at Steve, breathing too hard. Steve holds his hands up, an apologetic look on his face. The bandages over his ears are gone, but he’s still got the pen and paper. 

Bucky tries to relax, but his heart is racing. The security guard - there for him as much as anyone else - watches on from a distance. Steve lifts the paper pad in his hand to write something. Bucky wonders if he actually can’t speak, or if he’s just not comfortable with it or something.  _ ‘Ur lookin better’  _ the writing says.

Bucky blinks, unsure what to do. Steve just smiles and gestures to a couple of seats lining the walls. Bucky drifts over to them, waiting for Steve to sit down first. Bucky shifts in his seat, his body angled so he’s facing Steve. Steve offers the pen and pad to Bucky, who takes it with a frown on his face. Steve makes a writing motion and points to Bucky. 

Bucky looks down at the paper, still frowning. He balances the pad on his leg and messily writes; ‘ _ I’m Bucky.’  _ He hands it back to Steve, who reads it and beams, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘ _ I can’t hear atm so we hav 2 talk like this that ok?’  _ Steve writes back. Bucky nods and the conversation starts to flow, slowly. 

It’s nice - the quiet. They write back and forth for what feels like hours, till the sun moves and ends up beaming right in through the window. They stop writing eventually and Bucky finds himself drifting, lost in thought as he stares out the window. He can hear the scratching of Steve’s pen on the paper, but Steve doesn’t try get Bucky’s attention so he must be drawing or something. He’d told Bucky that he used to like to draw a lot.

Steve’s loss of hearing wasn’t old - he’d only ended up in hospital two weeks ago. It’d been a too-close bomb overseas that’d blown his eardrums. He’d been serving his fourth tour. Bucky’d shared some facts about himself too, avoiding the reason as to why he was in the hospital. It was nice, having someone treat him normally. Steve didn’t mention the arm. Bucky didn’t bring it up. 

The sun slides lower in the sky. A nurse comes up to them and asks if they would return to their rooms. Bucky manages a genuine smile as he waves goodbye to Steve. 

He’s feeling lighter than he has in a long, long time. 

It still doesn’t stop the nightmares. 

*

When the time comes for him to be discharged, no one knows what to do with Bucky. He has no family, no friends he’d left behind. Eventually, it’s decided that he’ll go to a state housing placement, which is cheap enough that the VA is willing to pay for his rent. He’s given an array of phone numbers and some clothes and sent on his way. 

He’s left feeling incredibly stranded. He has no idea how to reintegrate into society. Before he left the hospital, he’d visited Steve and said goodbye. Steve had asked if they could keep in touch - Bucky had just shrugged and wrote down the name of the VA he was going to. He’s got appointments at the VA set up, but he’s not sure if he’ll go. There’s people around him willing to help, who  _ are trying to help,  _ but he can’t...comprehend everything that has happened and is happening. 

The first night in his apartment, after everyone who helped him move in leaves, he sinks to the floor against the wall and stares blankly at the front door. It’s like he’s been cut loose and he’s drifting aimlessly. 

It’s an empty, draining feeling and he floats in it for hours till he manages to drag himself to bed. 

*

Days meld into each other. He loses track of the minutes, hours, days, weeks. Sometimes he thinks he hears people knocking on his door, but all he can manage to do is burrow further under a nest of blankets. 

He must eat, because he doesn’t wither away into nothing. He must attend his VA group sessions because no one rings him and asks if he’s still alive. He must do the food shopping, the laundry - act like a fully functioning human being - because no one says anything otherwise. 

He doesn’t remember much of it. He’s....hollow. A shell. A non-human. He’s doing things without thinking about them. It’s like drifting through a hazy dream. 

He doesn’t know how to change it. Doesn’t know if he wants to. 

*

He wakes up one night shivering, caught up in a rare whirlwind of clarity. He’s still spinning from the nightmare - electricity coursing through him, scrambling his brains, teeth biting off the end of his tongue, arm and legs pulling uselessly at the straps holding him down. He stares out at the darkness of his room, trying to calm the shaking.

It all catches up to him at once, then, finally. The things he’s been through. What’s been done to him. Grief and horror become two overwhelming emotions, tearing through him like a serrated blade. 

He feels the tears dripping down his face and realises he’s crying. He wraps his arm around his middle, feeling like he’s been gutted. The sadness pours out of him in uncontrollable waves, everything coming out of him at once. He screams, he knows he does. He  _ howls  _ his pain, teeth gritted, chest tight and eyes cast upwards like he can blame it all on whoever’s up there. 

Numbness sinks back in sometime around dawn.

*

He must go for walks, because one day he just sort of...wakes up. It’s like a rush of cold water and he finds himself wandering through a park. He has no idea where he is or how he got there, but he’s there. He scans his surroundings, finds himself breathing a little too hard. He veers off the path he’s on, feeling the panic starting to set in. 

He settles down out of the public's line of sight, pressing his spine up against a tree. He lowers his head in between his knees and tries to calm down. 

His vision’s swimming when he looks up at the leaves. It must be summer, or late spring, because it’s warm and the leaves are new and green. He takes a moment to try and figure out where he is. 

“Bucky?”

The name startles him out of his stupor and he bolts upright, spinning towards the source of the noise. Steve’s standing there, tall and strong with a golden retriever at his side. The dog has a service vest on. Bucky swallows dryly and looks back up at Steve, trying to meet his gaze. He’s got hearing aids in his ears. 

“Steve,” he replies, inwardly cursing himself as the name comes out shaky. 

Steve just smiles. “I wondered where you ended up,” he says. 

Bucky glances down at himself - at the holey jeans and sneakers, the oversized jersey and empty sleeve. He hasn’t gotten a prosthetic yet. He’s unsure when he washed his hair last. He swallows and looks back up at Steve, who just looks patient. “I…” he has no idea what to say. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” Steve says, and he does. Bucky knows he does. “This is Orby. Wanna come meet her?” Steve gestures to his dog and kneels down, already undoing the straps of her service vest. 

What kind of monster would Bucky be to say no? He steps forwards and sinks down to the ground in front of the dog, whose tongue is lolling out her mouth in happiness. She noses at Bucky’s outstretched hand and Bucky feels some of the tension drain out of him. It’s like magic. Orby pushes her blocky head into Bucky’s hand, panting happily. Bucky finds himself smiling. 

“I saw you at the VA the other day. Disappeared before I could catch up to you,” Steve hums, his own fingers threaded  through Orby’s fur. 

Bucky lifts his eyes to him and frowns. “I haven’t seen you,” he murmurs and immediately clamps his mouth shut, wondering if that was the right thing to say. 

Steve shrugs. “Just one of those things, we must always just miss each other,” he says. 

Bucky looks back down at Orby, silent. The quiet drags on and Bucky feels it prickling at his skin, growing uncomfortable. He feels twitchy, unsure what to say or do, but unable to fix it. Steve must pick up on this, because he moves, catching Bucky’s attention again. He’s smiling softly, eyes full of warmth and understanding. 

“Would you like to go for a coffee? I know this great place - real quiet, not many people. Not too pricey, either,” he offers. 

Bucky’s throat is doing that weird clogged-up thing, but he manages to nod and give a small smile. He stays present as Steve clips Orby’s service vest back into place and as they begin walking, Steve leading them across the park and to the cafe, just a few blocks away. It  _ is  _ quiet, and there’s only three other people in the place. They order and settle down in a booth, Orby curling up under the table with a bowl of water. 

“How have you been?” Steve asks, tone suggesting that Bucky doesn’t have to answer. 

He blows out an unsteady breath though, and chuckles without humor. “Tired,” he says.

Steve huffs out a breath, scraping a hand down his face. “I get that,” he murmurs. 

Bucky supposes he does. He gestures to his ears. “You got hearing aids?” he asks as a way to carry on conversation - that and he’s intrigued. He’s never heard Steve’s voice before today. 

Steve nods, enthusiastic, and Bucky counts his blessings that it wasn’t a touchy subject. “Yeah, got in touch with a few people and got set up with them. They’re...god. It’s amazing to be able to hear again, even if everything is all weird. I’m taking a sign language class, too.” 

“That’s awesome, Steve,” Bucky says, and he means it. Steve touches his left arm subtly, raising an eyebrow like he’s asking for permission to ask. Bucky bites at the inside of his cheek and shrugs, looking down. “I haven’t gotten around to it. I don’t...I dunno if I even want a prosthetic,” he mumbles. 

Steve looks a apologetic when Bucky looks up again. “Sorry. We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, and Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief. 

Their coffees arrive, and Bucky stirs a sugar into his, ripping the packet open with his teeth. The air gets thick with them, tension hovering at the edges. There’s something that’s put Steve on edge - like Steve wants to say something. He’s stirring his own coffee, sipping at it and shifting in his seat. Bucky just raises an eyebrow at him when he looks up. 

Steve sighs. “I just - I guess, um,” he pauses, looking irritated with himself. “I wanna know if you’d wanna make this, like, a regular thing?” he asks. 

Bucky frowns, before his mind clears and he gets it. “Like - a  _ date?”  _  he asks, incredulous. 

“Well -” Steve splutters, face turning pink. Bucky smirks at his over the rim of his cup. Steve scowls playfully. “I figured we could try friends first but if you’re insisting…” he trails off suggestively. 

It’s Bucky turn to blush. He sips at his coffee to delay responding. “Thought we were already friends, Rogers. After all, didn’t we meet because I burst into your room with a makeshift weapon ready to shank anyone that came near? You not freaking out counts as you accepting friendship.”

“If that’s your idea of the beginnings of friendship, I’m a little worried,” Steve shoots back. 

Bucky snickers, setting his coffee down. He takes a moment to revel in how present he is, how good he feels. Yeah. He could do this. “This was your idea,” he reminds Steve. 

Steve’s eyes go soft. This is where Bucky learns that Steve Rogers is a fucking sap. “And I’m glad I didn’t chicken out.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he can  _ feel  _ the pleased smile on his face. 

They finish their coffees and stay in the cafe, hours ticking past. 

*

Things become a little more stable, after Steve re-enters Bucky’s life. 

Things get...happier. 

Bucky wonders if he’ll ever stop lighting up inside when he sees Steve, after so long of not feeling anything at all. He hopes not. 

*

He wakes up some months later, warmth radiating from Steve on his right side. Orby is curled up at the foot of the bed, right on top of Steve’s legs. The sun is dappling in through the half-open curtains and Bucky can hear the morning birds singing. 

It’s quiet. There is no pain, no horror, no fear. 

  
Bucky wakes up and realises that everything’s pretty okay. 


End file.
